Thursday 18 October 2012

smooth skin

   Alex arrived home yesterday looking particularly youthful and radiant. She's been eating lots of bird seed. We were buying our birdseed at the local pet shop until we found it much cheaper in bulk at a nursery supply store. She loads up an old coffee bean grinder and dumps what looks like half a cup of brown powder over her raw muesli every morning. This pile of roughage is watered down with soy milk and must be eaten at just the right moment. The fibre goes gelatinous after a few minutes of standing, but if the muesli isn't allowed to soak then only a horse could chew it.
    It's all about the famous essential fatty acids. They have been the rage for over 10 years and all the clamoring has filtered past biochemical skeptics into grocery pulp science. The "omega" in omega 3 and 6 fatty acids refers to the location of a reaction site in the carbon chain of these molecules. It makes the resulting fats less inert and more important for other uses in the body than energy storage. Alex is well informed.
    Alex's skin is glossy. It was predicted as one of the first things noticed after adding supplemental O-3s to her food. He skin is smooth and remarkably soft, and that alone is worth the trouble. Maybe nipping and tucking can be put off for a while.
    Forget fried fish, flax and hemp seed are, apparently, the best sources because the seed case keeps the reactive fats fresher than even freezing. All you have to do is crack the seed case before eating. Have a Wikipedia moment.

Monday 15 October 2012

unpopular present

    Every now and then I pull on a t-shirt in front of a mirror and wince. The pain in my shoulder is always worse when I can see the permanent deformation. Sometimes I even indulge myself in a gruesome peek around the back where the muscles haven't really covered my riveted-together shoulder blade. But the good news is that most of the time I don't notice anything. I can still lift a bucket of water. And I can still pull on a t-shirt.
    Bob Henry is back with us. The last time I saw Bob his right arm was wrapped tightly to his chest to keep his broken shoulder from breaking any further. He'd suffered a bike accident the day before leaving and had to fly back to Wisconsin in what looked like a body cast. It was worrisome. I really felt sorry for him. I knew. When he left, he gave me instructions to take his bike apart and throw the frame away. I didn't have all the tools and I was too lazy anyway, but I knew how he felt. I didn't ride my bike, or any bike, at all. Now Bob is back for a month. He looks great. He feels great. He's passed his retirement eligibility at work which is a great achievement for a delivery driver with a broken shoulder. And he's been back on his bike. In fact, he brought some bike gear and immediately set to cleaning up his old bike and planning a few rides. During the past year, I confessed to Dad that I was too afraid to ride. I had seen myself panic and do something stupid. I had panicked, crashed, and permanently injured myself. He told me to get back on the horse. I didn't. Bob did.
     Bob, Thomasina and I went to the bike shop to repair his tire pump. He had gone previously and bought a helmet and a racing jersey sponsoring the shop. They like Bob. They know me from my purchases of all the kid's bikes and they let me poke around the back where the whoopties are left out in the rain. Sometimes there are some charming old Italian racing bikes back there with rusty chains and broken wheels. It gives me a chance to indulge in sentiment. I like to keep an eye open for the next bike for the kids. The bikes they currently have are far too small. They have to walk to Freddie and Izzy's house. It's not right. I'm a bike guy and they don't have good bikes.
    My first glance at the pile out back revealed nothing but a pile of rusty, cheap bikes. Not worth the trouble of fixing and franky, dangerous if you did. Thomasina wanted to know where I had gone so I took her back and showed her where her next bike was coming from, poor girl. Then, at the very back, through a confusion of spokes, tires, frames and torn saddles I saw a Specialized top-tube decal. That led to a Stumjumper downtube decal. The Stumpjumper was the world's first production mountain bike, a bike I loved and sold with enthusiasm for years. We sold them for $1000 each. This particular one was built at a time when one could buy a quality mountain bike without a suspension system. Suspension, with all its moving parts doesn't age well, but this bike was in perfect condition. It showed all the evidence of being well assembled: the screw threads were greased, the seatpost moved smoothly, and the cable ends were soldered. Just like the bikes we sold at Wheelworks. I asked Carlo. He said £100. I brought back the kid's baby bikes and we made a deal. Happy birthday me, but I hope it's a popular present. The kids like it. Bob is jealous. But Alex is in England. She doesn't know yet.